


「Here We Are; 現在未來」

by yuren



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Casual Alcohol Consumption, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, Japan Men's National Volleyball Team Antics, M/M, Timeskip Occupation Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26340826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuren/pseuds/yuren
Summary: Bright lights and Hong Kong nights.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Iwaizumi Hajime/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, if you squint
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	「Here We Are; 現在未來」

**Author's Note:**

> **a/n:** this is a birthday fic for my 月光女神 [@stelleum](https://tmblr.co/m-OgD4gDmNI09GhVApoBLBQ) ♡♡♡
> 
>  **song rec:** [far away - tarzan band.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PW28JdqzLvA)

**Hong Kong Coliseum, Hung Hom, 6:23pm HKT.**  


“And folks, there you have it! Your victors for the 2023 Asian Men’s Volleyball Championship!” 

A sea of red amidst the deafening cheers and tens of thousands of little artificial stars in the stadium. 

“...phone lights are out for the Monster Generation. This game is definitely one for the record books…”

“Ushijima-san, could we please have a—“

“The Moscow Times, Morisuke—“

“...live from Hong Kong to Rio, we are here with our very own Ninja Shouyou—“

“Bokuto-san!”

Flashing his press pass — courtesy of Shounen Jump and Udai Tenma’s hit haikyuu ongoing serialisation, Akaashi pushes through the crowd on court. It’s a cacophony of people, cameras, and microphones.

“Akaashi-san!” Surprise flits past Kageyama’s face as he momentarily turns away from his interviews. “You made it.”

“Hey, Kageyama, great last set! Sensei might call you about it,” Akaashi grins at the other setter. “I’ll talk to you later!”

Kageyama barely manages to give him a wave back before Akaashi is once again eclipsed by the magnitude of the victory haze. Pass the net, he is at his goal, the far end of the court where a broad-backed Number Four shakes with laughter as he talks animatedly to his own swarm of press. 

He is bright, so bright even among the artificial lights. 

“—without his support. What?” Bokuto falters, confusion cutting into his beaming smile. “Who’s where?”

Akaashi smiles softly, tapping the ace on his shoulder.

“Bokuto-san, I’m here.”

**A local cafe, Causeway Bay, 9:07pm HKT.**

“You disgust me.”

“Omi-kun!” Atsumu cries with a mouthful of half-chewed stir-fried beef noodles, much to the absolute aggravation of essentially everyone around him. “I’m literally starving. Y’know how hard it’s to keep up with Shouyou-kun when he thinks I’m freakin’ Tobio-kun? Like, hello? I don’t have telepathy beyond my own twin!”

“Your excuse disgusts me.” Sakusa can’t be bothered to hide the shivers that pass through him like a basket of slippery eels dragged through muddy waters. He picks up his plate, and moves to the other end of the table, where Komori, Gao, and Hyakuzawa are consuming their meals in peace and civility. As they actively create more space for this new member, Sakusa thinks that he really should have gone with this group from the start. It would have saved him from a lot of meaningless meandering and repulsive eating experiences. 

Atsumu looks at Hinata on the _other_ other end of the table for some salvation only to find that _his_ other outside hitter is currently deep in what appears to be the fifth consecutive arm wrestling feud with _his_ other setter. 

“You know, Miya,” Iwaizumi calls from in between officiating the matches, “you really shouldn’t eat that fast. Besides stomach inflammation issues, you look ugly as fuck.”

Snickers echo across the room, and Bokuto’s laughter booms out. Even Akaashi can’t spare considerations for Atsumu’s embarrassment. Aran only gives his fellow Inarizaki grad a sympathetic pat on the back as Atsumu holds his head in his hands, muttering all the while “I wanna go home. Why was I even born? I miss Kita-san…”

Iwaizumi appears either completely unaware or absolutely uncaring of his deliberate damage to Atsumu’s inflated ego. 

“No, you two are done for tonight,” the trainer scowls as he shoos Hinata and Kageyama away from the battleground. “Who’s next? Yaku and Hoshiumi?”

“I don’t want to battle Yaku _paisen_. You grouped the two of us together because we’re short, isn’t it?” Hoshiumi pushes away from the table, abandoning his baked pork chop rice. “Bokuto! I challenge you to an arm wrestling battle!”

A resounding smack follows the comment.

“Shut it, gull boy.” Yaku drags Hoshiumi to the battle table amidst the latter’s somewhat terrified yelling. “Don’t bother those two.”

Akaashi gives the libero an appreciative nod before scooping another helping of bitter melon onto Bokuto’s plate. At Bokuto’s pout, he couples it with a Typhoon-styled prawn Akaashi peeled himself.

“They’re very lively,” he chuckles. “Reminds me a bit of the training camps.”

“Right, right, right?” Gingerly eating the bitter melon and prawn combination, Bokuto can’t decide whether to frown or grin. “Man, Akaashi, I kinda miss those days. Why does Kuroo have a meeting after the championships?”

Watching Bokuto’s features settle into a frown, Akaashi only smiles understandingly as he places a _gailan_ vegetable and two pieces of barbeque pork onto Bokuto’s plate.

“Bokuto-san, I’m here.”

From his corner, Ushijima looks on, sipping quietly on his red bean ice cream float. “Kageyama Tobio’s right. You two look good together.”

He turns his attention back to what is now a thumb wrestling match, leaving a blushing couple in his wake.

**A bar, Soho, 10:53pm, HKT.**

“Yaku-san, your English is decent, right? Do you mind calling a few taxis?” Looking at his teammates, Aran just knows that they will become bigger headaches when morning comes. “Man, I’m never drinking with them ever again.”

Nodding empathetically, Yaku sighs. _Lightweights, the lot of them._

The bar that the Japanese Volleyball Association/Kuroo had the foresight to rent out and pay advanced damage reparation for is, to put it lightly, completely trashed. 

Hyakuzawa is currently downing a jug of water that Yaku had shoved into his hands. Kuroo and Atsumu had taught the poor boy how to take shots.

Up front at the mics, Hinata and Hoshiumi are collaborating on an awful rendition of _Love The Way You Lie_ as Kuroo and Gao watch on in hysterical laughter.

Yaku only groans further. It isn’t like Kuroo and Gao are in any better shape if their earlier attempt to channel Babymetal is anything to go by. 

And just _where_ is their star setter? Yaku looks around, a bit worried. He hopes that Kageyama did not venture out. This boy isn’t known for his navigation skills outside of the 18 by 9 metres size of the volleyball court. Just as Yaku is about to call Aran for back up, he sees Komori waving to him from the stools near the entrance, a large body slumped next to him. 

Ah right, Kageyama had wrongly placed his trust in Ushijima, who, knowing nothing about alcohol, had assured Kageyama that the shots of 106-proofed _maotai_ were water. Komori is only being responsible for their youngest ward. 

At the very least, the Russian Super League player doesn’t need to think about the remaining six of their party members. Four of them have self-preservation instincts. While the other two don’t, they are lucky to have exclusive keepers to ensure their survival in Hong Kong. Yaku smiles a little. In the mess of all this, he’s glad that those two are able to spend some time together. 

In one of the booths, Bokuto is nursing an apple juice. Akaashi has consistently regulated Bokuto’s alcohol intake for the night, despite the latter’s vow to match Kuroo’s drinks one to one. 

“Akaashi, where are you?” Bokuto whines as he looks around with a deep frown. “I still have to tell you about the awesome last minute chest bump I made against Iran!”

“Bokuto-san, I’m here,” Akaashi chuckles, setting down a cup of sugar cane juice. “I had a feeling you’re getting sick of apple juice.”

“You’re the best, Akaashi,” Bokuto beams as he launches into the third retelling of the last-minute-chest-bump-against-Iran story.

Akaashi only smiles pleasantly, half nodding along to Bokuto and half listening in on Atsumu’s complaining in the booth across. 

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu sighs, a bottle of beer in hand, “I want what they have.”

With a snort of exasperated derision, Sakusa only stares soullessly at Akaashi, mouthing a “teach me” before flicking his own ward’s forehead. 

“Hydrate,” he snaps, pushing Atsumu off of him and pointing to the glass of water in front. If Sakusa had a choice in the matter, he would switch out Atsumu for Bokuto in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t, so he only very, very grudgingly and unwillingly lets Atsumu once again fall back onto his shoulder. 

From their corner, Ushijima and Iwaizumi look on, sipping quietly on their _maotai_ , completely unfazed like old Chinese uncles. 

“Ushijima, you’re right. These two look good together as well.”

Ushijima nods, and resumes their one-hundred-and-forty-eighth round of pinky wrestling for the night. 

They leave behind a happy, burrowing fox and an increasingly agitated mysophobe in their wakes. 

**Tram station, Causeway Bay, 1:23am, HKT.**

The tram softly screeches to a stop near the wide, sprawling junction of Hennessy Road. Neons all around, the largest billboard displaying a pair of grey-haired models’ Prada campaign. On the upper deck, Bokuto and Akaashi chatter aimlessly, accompanied by the solace of the city’s artificial stars in the dead of the night. 

The car is empty, save for a few stragglers still unwilling to go home. The city is quieter now, a few cherry red taxis cruising by, the shouts of wayward teenagers dancing across the crosswalk, a few green-topped light buses rushing past, eagerly completing their last rounds of the night. 

“Akaashi, isn’t it pretty?”

“The lights?”

“Yeah, they’re kind of like stars.” Grinning softly down at the boy seated in front of him, Bokuto throws a tired arm out at the expanse of the world beyond him. “But the real stars back home are prettier.”

“These ones are stars too, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi laughs lowly, watching Bokuto look back out of the window. “They may be man made ones, but stars are stars, no matter where.”

As if prompted by the start of something, the sparks of a realisation that only Akaashi Keiji can trigger, Bokuto tears his sight away from the city behind him, and fully matches Akaashi’s gaze with his own. Akaashi reaches a hand out and pulls on Bokuto’s hoodie, gently prompting him to take his seat next to him. 

The chimes sound, and the tram pulls away from the station. Bokuto tilts his head onto Akaashi’s own as Akaashi shifts his hold to his ace’s hand, carding his tender, blistered fingers through Bokuto’s rough, calloused one. 

“Let’s come back again, Akaashi,” Bokuto says in a rare tenor, mellow yet steeped in the sincerity of a covenant for the artificial stars to witness. “Just the two of us.”

“I’d like that.”

“Promise, Akaashi?” 

Smiling, Akaashi hooks his pinky finger with Bokuto’s. 

“Bokuto-san, I’ll be here, always.”

Neon and darkness, inching past them in a beautifully mundane show of life. Akaashi has no idea where they’re heading — well, he knows that they’re getting farther and farther away from their lodgings — but at the moment he could care less. It’s wild and free in Hong Kong, dark and light, fantastical and banal. The night is still young; their love is still young. Surrounded by Hong Kong’s city lights, two hearts beat as one. Here, now, tomorrow, heading into the infinities of star-filled morning nights.


End file.
